A Wonderful Lie
by hear-half-evil
Summary: Jack has never had the best life, so he doesn't expect much when he takes over his father's old farm in Forget-Me-Not Valley. The residents are much more interesting than he expected, however. A story of misunderstanding, new beginnings and middles and endings, and depressing times that may or may not get much better... but good ones, too. Rating for future chapters. Slow updates.
1. Chapter 1

**A Wonderful Lie, Chapter One.**

AN: This is one of my first Harvest Moon fanfictions (first fanfiction at all, really) so PLEASE critique, especially if my writing is awkward in parts; I'd love to know how to improve it. This is set in the AWL universe, though it's been a while since I've actually played it. Lumina is 18 here, and I apologize if she comes off as a little out-of-character. While the rating is marked as T, this is merely a precaution for later chapters. It is subject to change, but will probably not get as mature as it could. In this chapter nothing mature really happens. Well, nothing period.

* * *

Takakura has the kind of stare that isn't all that noticeable except in his calculating stillness, but the young man, from infancy, has been able to sense it even from behind. He crouches, vulnerable, silent as his blood drips into the earth, burying the plant that might one day match the hue with its fruit.

The gash in his hand matches the tear in his discarded glove, resting beside him. He wills himself not to shake, but it's difficult.

Everything up to this day has been difficult.

Clenching his jaw, he attempts to will the pain away. Heavy, weary eyes are still fixed to him, waiting expectantly. Still expecting his strength to show, though it had never even suggested itself from day one.

_Back in the city he had received a letter from a very old friend of his father, the familiar scripted signature proclaiming the name of a man who lived in Forget-Me-Not Valley (it was vaguely ironic, considering the writer). He'd never heard of it and the memories of the old man (he had to have entered his sixties or seventies by then) writing trickled back through the simple paragraphs. At first he'd thought perhaps Takakura hadn't been informed of his father's death, but in the last line he knew this couldn't be true._

_"I've been meaning to show you something your father always wanted you to see."_

_A date listed further down replaced the signature line. This stranger expected Jack to simply drop everything. All future plans, any shred of a life he'd settled into. His work, his apartment, his friends, the girl he'd been seeing on-and-off for weeks now._

_The stranger knew Jack better than Jack knew him (or perhaps himself), it seemed._

_The drive took him out of the city and through miles and miles of trees, paved roads dissolving to dirt, only a single village springing up. At the gate of it, a hunched man of dark brown complexion strung with spider-web wrinkles stood. He needed no sign or introduction, despite having been so much younger when the brunette had last seen him. Similarly, Jack needed not make his identity known. The village didn't see many tourists, especially ones driving trucks. Many peeked out of their windows at the monstrosity. Takakura had Jack leave it with someone who promised to sell it and give Jack most of the money, which Jack accepted without much thought. He wouldn't need the vehicle anyway._

_The deep hill on the outside of the quiet village brought them to Forget-Me-Not. In the height of the morning, only the farm on their right had any life to it, a tall young man staring into the small field and a heavyset woman with strawberry blond hair and a yellow apron leaning against the fence, grinning broadly to Takakura. She yelled something to him, and her mouth contorted into quite wide shapes with evident glee. He gave a very small, barely noticeable smile in return, nodding._

_They continued over the bridge, which sank ever-so-slightly at their footsteps, the stream underneath continuing its lazy course down to the ocean. Past another hill were shaggy buildings that sparked a little more of a memory in Jack. They had been brighter, more optimistic in those old pictures. A few of them planted his father and a much younger version of himself smiling with a herd of cattle in the background, as black-and-white as the pictures themselves. His mother had burned most of them; the few copies he had left remained in the glovebox of the truck._

_Damn it._

_More and more resurfaced as his stand-in uncle brought him on a tour of the farm. The once-tall grass of the field had died, and the gardens that once shown such amazingly sweet hybrids of crops held nothing but rocks and weeds now. The miscellaneous buildings now had concrete purposes - put everything that needed to be shipped in here and let Takakura sell it himself, or place orders for any necessities. Over there, a house for chickens, if they were ever desired. A tool shed, and then a barn. A very small one-room house, and another further down. A burned, rotted shed neither man addressed._

_He hardly had to ask Jack to stay, as the agreement that he'd look after his father's old farm had been unspoken since pen had taken to paper on Takakura's lonely dining table. The man was old. The quiet brunette was the most obvious heir. He had no siblings or cousins, nor did his father's friend._

_When a pair of scrawny, flea-bitten mutts rushed up to the two, Jack kneeled before them with a wide smile that met his eyes. They leaned close together, panting, tales of struggle and joy written into their glassy eyes. When he was only allowed one to keep, Jack pulled the floppy-earred one into his arms, and while it seemed pleased, the pointy-earred canine's face seemed to droop, struck hard by this development as Takakura led it away, its body still. _

_He promised to build the new pet a home, while the other could find one in the city. The two animals sat together in the pasture, playing as if nothing had happened._

_In the barn a young cow stood, shaking her head as her recent birth was made known, though no calf (or any other animal) was present in the wide barn. Her udders had already been freed of milk for that day, so all that was left to do was name her. After Jack had named her Dot, the weariness of the day hit him hard, and when he was led out of the barn, he declined Takakura's offer to show him around the town. He didn't think the residents would be of much interest, but he'd meet them at his own pace. _

_That afternoon, he turned in. The next morning his hell began as he woke up late, still unsure if he were dreaming as his hallucinations from before he shut the door to his new house reappeared, tiny figures like elves, with voices that sounded inside his head in high pitches that he found himself oddly understanding. That strange, spoken language, with a strange, foreign sensation burning in his head. They guided him to the barn, where Dot had her head thrown back in agony. He rushed beside her, clumsily milking her by hand, very little hitting the bucket he'd yanked from the side wall. He hardly stopped to register the cleanliness of it, only wishing to stop the baying and crying of the animal._

_A whoosh of air hit him as the barn door opened. A figure strode to stand a few feet behind him, watching. When the bucket was full and the cow calmed down, Jack's bare hands shook to lift the bucket. Stumbling, he dropped it. The milk spread against the hard ground, splashing against his feet and Dot's hooves. _

_A hard stare fixed itself against his back. The first of many._

Jack groans, standing from the dead garden. He can't meet the old man's gaze. Instead, the torn glove is slipped back on, too big for his hand really. He lifts the rusted hoe from the ground, pushing it into the fairly unused rucksack and hefting it over his shoulder.

Takakura visibly grunts, turning back to his patrol without a change in expression (though it hadn't changed even when he watched Jack's hand tear open when the tool slipped). The young city boy clutches the wound to his breast, trembling slightly, bottom lip sticking out. He kicks some soil over the tomato seed, slashing water from the can he'd sat beside the well. It is probably a futile attempt, but he has to take a chance.

Deciding he's done all he is able to, Jack sets his bag inside and pats his unnamed dog on the back. The short-haired canine looks much better after a bath, and doesn't seem too fazed by the new living situation. More weight rounds out her sides, and she lets out healthy barks, more than happy to attempt some of the tricks Jack tries to show her. After she grows weary of spinning around and leaping up to him, he waves a good-bye and sets out towards the town.

Despite being new to a town that didn't receive much immigration, no one gives him a second glance as he passes by. He steps into the small, stone-crafted bar for a few minutes, but the blonde manning the counter doesn't seem to actually know how to mix any of the drinks, preferring to chat, leaning over the counter and recanting some tale to him, slowly, with wide eyes. He smiles, nodding, taking his leave when she seems distracted by a quiet, black-haired man with beady eyes and a square jaw whom Jack recognizes from the only competent farm in the village. The newcomer to the bar spares him half a glance.

Closing the door behind him, Jack turns to walk farther down the road, passing two quaint homes before coming up a rather large hill - very lumpy valley, it seems. The mindless stroll up relaxes him, though he almost bumps into a short old woman at the gate. Her hair vaguely resembles a clover from a playing card, though lacking the stem and much more grey and faded. She gives him a stiff smile, shoulders shaking with what he assumes is laughter. Her lips move, and when he cocks his head she points to herself and repeats what he made out as _Romana. _A name, most likely. His attempt to verbally introduce himself as Jack, the new farmer, fails as she arches her brow in confusion to his voice. His cheeks burn; he mimics her second introduction, and she nods, smiling brightly again.

Further into the yard, Jack admires the large villa, eyes widening a little when a thin old man (the town's elders were flocking to him) in casual, yet still stiffly formal attire opened the door, his eyebrows arching as he motions for Jack to enter as he stepped out. The farmer (if he could be called so) steps in, his sinuses flaring up in disapproval when he is immediately met by an orange cat attempting figure-eights between his legs. His sneeze doesn't rise the girl he notices at the piano in the corner of the room, hands dancing across the keys, the air around them vibrating with the lower notes. He realizes he's standing closer to her now, watching her hands, though she doesn't look to him. Setting his hand on the back of the piano, he feels the knots in his muscles unwrap as the symphony courses through him, pulling his eyelids down and spinning his senses in a slow dance, rocking his entire being in a waltz.

The meditation comes to a breathless end, but he keeps his eyes shut a while longer. Basking in it. When he opens them, he jumps, seeing golden brown eyes staring up at him, perfectly matching her short, bobbed hair. Patting the pocket of his shirt, he pulls out a scrap of paper, wishing he'd brought more. It was a habit to crumple sheets there; it almost reassured him even on days he didn't leave the house. From the pocket of her jeans she produces a pen, expression calm, though slightly sheepish.

The piano serving as a desk, Jack writes as lightly as possible, "_You are very good with music._"

She examines the writing, taking the pen from him and replying, "_Auntie Romana has me practice a lot._" Her young face seems to age with this note, eyes tired.

Frowning, the man hesitates before patting at his back pocket. A white flower is pulled out, the scent resembling cheap soap. He holds it out to her. The stem is still strong enough for the plant to stand up on its own, though he hadn't managed to get any of its roots to come along.

In surprise, her eyes widen. She looks up at him with bemusement, then points to herself. In contrast to her aunt, she doesn't actually let her finger make contact with her chest. At his nod, she accepts it with an exhausted smile. Her verbal thank you is understood. Jack laughs a little, then takes the pen again.

"_My name is Jack._"

"_I'm Lumina._"


	2. Chapter 2

A Wonderful Lie, Chapter Two.

AN: I apologize for the clunky writing and the overall shortness of this. I'm trying to introduce a few people before much happens, and while I have a vague idea of where the story is going, I have just as much of an idea of where it's going as any readers would. (I mean, I do know most of the outcome, but as for how it gets there... I'm curious.)

* * *

That morning, Jack wakes up before the sun does.

It is mostly because of the sprout. It's barely visible in the early morning light, but it's there. He had gone to sleep knowing it would be. It would find a way, somehow. He waters it carefully, maneuvering his ripped glove clumsily. The watering can's weight sends it crashing from his arms, moistening the soil away from the seedling. Staring, he tills it quickly. The hoe sinks through the mud easily, and he can tell it's rich with nutrients.

After preparing the land for the seeds he will buy when _Vesta _(Takakura had mentioned her name off-handedly) wakes up, the young man makes his way to the barn, pulling Dot out to feast on what little grass is available. While she busies herself with that, he uses the milker he'd found in the toolshed to fill a few bottles, rubbing her nose before slowly carrying the two containers to the shipping building, placing them carefully in the small cooler Takakura had set aside.

Leaving quickly, his movements set to autopilot, Jack quickly assesses what he needs to do.

He leaves his farm, _his _farm, to set across the bridge, tossing some change to a kneeling man who seemed worse for wear. A long-haired brunette girl with an emerald-toned dress stands at the fence, tending to the taller crops. Walking between two wooden buildings, a house and a shed, he approaches the girl. In a straightforward manner, he hands her a sheet of paper with requests for a few bags of fertilizer, and for tomato seeds to join the sprout.

She nods with an air of politeness, producing the supplies from the shed, pocketing the payment into her apron. With a wave, he returns down the road to his farm, giving the change from the transaction to the beggar. The wide-eyed little fellow seems appreciative enough of this; the gesture his never been a common one, Jack guesses.

The seeds are soon buried in the drying soil, and Jack spreads the fertilizer over a corner of Dot's field that she rarely wanders into. It stings against his hand, the wound barely healed, but he doesn't let it get to him. A nose presses against his back, and he turns, looking up at the young cow. She brushes up against him almost like a cat, with a sweetness that feels unknowingly comforting. Stroking the side of her neck, the brunette stands, stretching. His light blue shirt comes untucked in the front, though he hardly notices.

The afternoon is on high. Although he doubts he'll have time, he passes into the small road branching from the side of his land, setting a leisurely pace into the forest. The glade he comes upon holds a small pond, an aura of stale, lost magic hovering over its gentle waters. Flowers spring up around the grass, the breeze carrying their soapy scent in spirals. In one corner, a man sits, although with his height even sitting he comes up a head taller than Jack. This is even more exaggerated by the pointed green hat that shoots up against gravity, with one of the white flowers pulled snugly to the rim of it with a band, giving the whole look a "good witch" feel. A guitar sits in his lap, and he strums almost mindlessly, an easy smile on his lips.

Crouching down to pull one of the flowers up gently, the farmer glances toward the large tree growing on the opposite end of the glade. Mushrooms sleep in the earth before it, and he can't see the top of the behemoth tree through the bordering greenery. The guitarist hums and suddenly he can feel it, the vibrations from the strings and from low in the man's throat braiding together, only following the breeze, or maybe carrying it wherever they please to go.

Jack steps closer to the other man and takes a seat beside him, watching his lips as he sings. He can't understand the words, but slowly the bespectacled face turns to him, those round sunglasses completing the cyclical melody, laugh lines crinkling from unseen eyes.

"What's your name?" Jack's hands are moving before he can control the urge, and he's surprised when the man answers as if he's so used to it.

"Gustafa," he spells it out with the slow deftness of someone used to using his hands, with the awkwardness of someone who has never had to use them to speak. Gustafa explains that he doesn't really know that much sign, but as a nomad it's helpful to know how to speak with different people. Once that ends his grasp of the language, Jack realizes he doesn't have any more paper with him, much less a pen. The musician returns to his craft.

Standing, the farmer basks in the notes a while longer before stiffly turning away. He leaves the forest, passing a baby-faced blond with a different sort of carefree look than Gustafa's. Jack passes by his farm. By the time he's halfway up the villa's drive, the sun is drooping down the horizon, crickets no doubt warming up for the night. He wonders if they have the same majesty as pianos and guitars.

Lumina is standing by the fountain, the dying sunlight glinting off the water spilling down the stone.

Jack cocks his head slightly. With a smile, he tugs a gold coin from his pocket, then tosses it underhand towards the large construction. It smacks against the top, then splashes into the water below, causing the young girl to jump and spin on her heel toward him. The sky darkens a fraction more, sliding down its gradient into night.

She lets out a tense breath at the sight of the farmer, then pulls her shoulders back again, head dipping nervously. Giving his apology, which she seems to more or less understand, Jack walks to her with the flower in his hand.

Her expression turns to disbelief, and she laughs when he puts it in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it. The girl thanks him, carefully tucking the flower into her pocket, letting its head poke out. The petals are ruffled.

Wishing her a good evening as well as he can, the farmer turns to leave. He pauses at the gate. Jack turns, mouth open, but the yard stands lifeless, no trace of any person ever having been around.

His shoulders sag and his mouth shuts.

The journey home restarts itself.


End file.
